


Shoot the Messenger

by Myrime



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BAMF Tony Stark, Concussions, Damsel In Distress Steve, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Gun Violence, Happy Ending, Hurt Steve Rogers, Kidnapped, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Needs a Hug, Tony to the rescue, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 15:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21000146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: Steve gets kidnapped on his morning run. Tony is coming to his rescue, determined to pay the ransom in blood. Nobody takes what is his and gets away with it.





	Shoot the Messenger

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Whumptober 2019](https://whumptober2019.tumblr.com/) Day 12: "Don't move."
> 
> Enjoy!

Everything happened so fast that Steve cannot tell how he went from being on his morning run to being bound to a chair in someone’s basement. His head is pounding and his left eye is slowly swelling shut. He remembers what it feels like to get beaten up, but it turns out he has not missed it particularly much.

Most of all, he is not sure what these people want with him. He might have never given up on mouthing off to bullies, but his life has calmed down since he got accepted into art school.

That growth spurt his mother always promised him never really hit, and while his asthma allows some physical activity, the Army recruiter laughed him right back out of the office. Steve might not be the scrawny, trouble seeking idiot of his childhood days anymore, but he is by no means a danger to anyone but himself either – which makes it rather ridiculous that the guy standing guard at the door keeps glaring at him.

Steve does not have any money. He has not made any enemies lately. There is just no reason why these guys would kidnap him. Except for Tony.

Realization hits Steve, allowing him to shrug off most of the dizziness that comes from having been hit in the head. His boyfriend, Tony Stark. He is the only reason why anyone would show interest in Steve. Ever since they have gone public with their relationship, Steve has been hounded by journalists. All of them have asked the same, frankly insulting question at some point: _why?_

Steve does not have an answer to that. Tony tells him he loves him as often as he can get away with it. They fit in with each other well, despite being used to very different lives. They both love their work, though, and that is what they first bonded over when Pepper brought him in to order some paintings for Stark Tower because she liked the few pieces of his they showed during the end of the year gallery of his college. He has no idea how Pepper even found out about them.

Everything spiralled from there. So much so that, apparently, Steve is fair game in the kidnapping business. Perhaps they should have listened when Pepper told them not to be too sickeningly affective in public. While she worried more about bad press, that also made it obvious that Steve is Tony’s weak point.

Trying to be stealthy, Steve tests the restraints. They do not give. He is disappointed by that, even though he has not expected any differently. Even if he had gotten free, he has no idea what he would have done next. Throw himself at the guard and hope not to get shot?

A shiver runs down Steve’s spine as he realizes just how messed up his situation is. He does not have any strength, any leverage, any way out. He does not know what these people want or what they are going to do if they do not get it. Tony is not going to cave to their demands.

Steve has never had a gun pointed at him. He has never even brought a knife to any fight, trusting on his righteous fury to protect him. His chances to get out of this are miserably low.

“What do you want?” Steve asks the man standing guard. His voice is more of a croak since his throat is dry, but nobody would believe a show of strength coming from him anyway.

The man cocks his head at Steve. He is masked and yet the disdain is radiating off him in a very obvious manner.

“Shut up, kid,” he says, and it is not so much the moniker irritating Steve than the condescension accompanying it. “If you don’t give us any trouble, you might even make it out of here.”

That does not sound promising, but Steve finds himself unable to reply anything, overcome by the sudden knowledge that he will _not_ make it out of here. This is now how he wanted to die, bound and held at gun point, held to force the love of his life into paying ransom or fulfil some other demands.

He bites the inside of his cheek and keeps tugging at the ropes binding his hands to the chair. It gives him something to do while he thinks – or while he is fighting the panic worming itself through his chest. It will not do him any good if he loses his composure, what little he has left.

Minutes drag by, in which Steve only manages to rub his wrists raw. The pain does not even help to ground him. It is just making things worse.

When he hears footsteps coming close, he straightens as much as he can in the chair, despite his first instinct to make himself smaller. He is afraid and completely out of his depth, but he is not going to _show_ that.

The door is thrown open and two more men step in. The one in the front does not wear a mask and Steve thinks that is a very bad sign. He is middle-aged and bald, glaring at Steve as if Steve has done something wrong here.

“Tony is not going to do anything for you,” Steve says, wondering where he has scrounged up the courage for it. He is hopelessly outnumbered. Three men with guns against him.

“So you’ve figured out why you’re here,” the man says. His lips pull into something that might have been a smile under any other circumstances. Here, Steve interprets it as a threat. “I’m sure Mr. Stark can be motivated into doing the right thing.”

Without warning, the man steps forward and punches Steve squarely in the face. Steve hears his nose crunch as pain explodes inside his head. Blood runs down his chin and gathers inside his mouth. He wants to raise his hands to protect himself from another blow but has forgotten that he cannot move.

Panic hits with as much force as the punch did, turning his breathing erratic. When he tries to inhale, blood clogs his throat, making it impossible to get any air into his lungs at all. He feels like he is going to choke, doubling over in the chair as he begins coughing. The pain in his face only gets worse.

“How about you smile for the camera?” the man before him asks, completely unmoved by Steve’s fight for breath.

Through the pain and the panic, Steve glances up, right into the man’s phone camera. He knows what is happening here. They are going to send this picture of him, bound and bloody and obviously hurting, to Tony, alongside their demands.

If Tony does not react to it, they will come back and they will roughen up Steve more. Bit by bit, sending new evidence to Tony as they go. They want to get to Tony and Steve is merely collateral damage. It does not matter whether Steve breaks along the way.

As he watches the men filter out of the room, still wheezing for air, he thinks it is quite possible that this is going to end with him in pieces. He once prided himself of being fearless, taking on every bully coming his way. Now, though, Steve is very much afraid.

* * *

The bleeding stops eventually and the pain in his nose quietens down, although it does not vanish completely. It now throbs in sync with the burning of his raw wrists.

The man guarding the door has vanished along with what Steve thinks might have been their leader. He does not feel any better about having been left alone here. That just proves they do not think he is any danger to them, that he will not escape. Steve has yet to find the flaw in that logic.

Looking around, he tries to find anything to help him. A table has been pushed against the wall, along with another chair. Other than that, there is nothing. No window, nothing to help him get rid of the ropes. 

Unable to do anything, Steve waits. It is getting colder in the basement, but he thinks the trembling in his limbs is mostly due to the dropping adrenaline. He would almost prefer the men coming back to beat him again to being forced to sit here in silence.

When he next hears footstep coming close, he regrets that thought immediately. Steve is not sure how much time has passed, but if they already want to send another picture of him, it does not speak well for him. 

He looks down at his lap and tries to collect himself. All he has to do is stay strong and perhaps not look as desperate as he feels to make it easier on Tony to do the right thing and refuse whatever the kidnappers are asking.

The door opens, but Steve does not move. He does not think of himself as a coward, but he does not feel particularly brave at the moment either.

“I love what you’ve done with the place. It looks like a genuine bad guy lair.”

Steve’s head shoots up as he hears Tony’s voice. Although his vision is swimming from the abrupt motion, he sees a familiar shape. Short, dark-haired, sauntering in as if he owns the place. Blinking, Steve clears his vision. That is definitely Tony, led in by three of the kidnappers. A gun is pointed to the back of his head.

If Steve was afraid before, things have just now gotten a lot worse. He has almost resigned himself to being these people’s punching bag if that keeps them away from Tony. But Tony is here now, in this room, held at gun point.

Their eyes meet. Tony looks sharp and calm, not paying any mind to the men in his back. His gaze catches on the bruises on Steve’s face, causing his expression to turn pinched.

Despite knowing the futility of it, Steve silently tries to tell Tony to get out of here. He pulls at his restraints with new strength, unable to sit still now that Tony is here. Now that Tony is in danger. He silently curses himself for having been taken.

“Shut up, Stark,” the leader of the kidnappers snaps. He is still not wearing a mask. The gun never wavers in his hand.

Tony glances at the man over his shoulder. “My, you don’t know me very well if you think that’s ever going to happen,” he says nonchalantly like they have all met at a dinner party instead of a hostage situation. 

“I’m serious,” the man answers and accentuates it with an angry jab of the gun. “You’ve seen your little boyfriend. Now it’s time to talk business.”

So Tony truly came for him. He did not just give into whatever demands the men made but surrendered himself to them. Steve is certain he will never get over that, not even if his life expectancy were any better than it looks at the moment.

“You ruined the joke,” Tony says and _pouts_.

Everybody stares at him in silence, wondering what exactly just happened.

“What?”

Tony shows himself unfazed and shrugs. “You should’ve stopped talking after _I’m serious_,” he says, not making anything clearer. He is standing straight as if he is performing at a gala, captivating everybody’s attention so they do not see that he is groping Steve’s ass in front of all of them. As embarrassed as Steve has been by these situations, he would very much prefer being in one of them instead of here.

Steve does not see where talking will get them here, however, other than into an early grave.

“I’m done with you,” the leader snarls, taking a step forward as an obvious threat.

Tony sighs like the man has personally offended him. “That works I guess.” Then he grins, utterly unperturbed by the gun still pointing at his face. “Hey done with you, I’m your doom.”

Tony is the only one who laughs. Before any of the men can respond, he moves. It is almost too fast for Steve to follow. He disarms the man with the gun, a mere blurry of motions, then twists and shoots twice in rapid sequence to take down the other two men before sinking a bullet right in the leader’s chest.

It is over much quicker than it began. Where, just a second ago, three men were holding Tony at gun point and Steve hostage, there are now three bodies, unmoving on the ground.

Steve stares, unable to understand what has just happened. Tony is not a fighter. He is a businessman, and yet he has taken down three men without breaking so much as a sweat. It happened too fast for that.

The first hints of red are spreading over the leader’s shirt, crawling out from the hole Tony left there. Then, Steve cannot see that anymore because Tony step into his line of sight.

“Steve,” he says and sounds worried for the first time since entering the room. “Are you all right, darling?”

Everything about Tony appears softer now. His expression is pinched with concern, his shoulders sag, his eyes – no, his eyes are furious, even while they look at Steve with the same love he has become accustomed to.

Steve feels the ropes around his hands fall away. When he glances down, he sees Tony gripping a knife. He has no idea where it came from.

“What happened?” Steve asks, his voice breaks halfway through.

He winces when Tony’s hand appears out of nowhere, prodding at his swollen face, although the touch is almost unbearably gentle.

“I was going to ask you that,” Tony counters. He is still so very calm, Steve can barely stand it. “You left for your morning run and then someone called and threatened to kill you if I didn’t pay ransom.”

Steve frowns, almost glad for the pain that has shooting through the bruised side of his face, although it does not help much with clearing his thoughts. “Ransom?” he asks.

He knew they were going to ask for something. What he does not understand is why Tony is here now. If they wanted money, why would they tell Tony where to find them?

“Money for your life. And some tech they were never going to get,” Tony answers, a hint of steel in his tone that makes Steve think the three men on the ground are lucky that Tony was in a hurry to take them down. “Someone apparently realized that you’re very important to me.”

“But –” Steve tries to argue. Once they are out of here, he is going to get an answer as to why Tony put himself into danger for Steve.

The moment he thinks of getting out, he remembers that there were more people than just the three he has seen inside this room. There were four in the van when they snatched him up, and some others when they marched him down here. He cannot tell how many since he was rather out of it at that time. But he knows that this is not yet over.

“Can you look at me?” Tony asks, drawing Steve’s attention back to him. “That’s perfect. Did they give you anything? Any drugs? Are you hurt?”

There were no drugs. They believed in the old-fashioned way of knocking people out.

“My head hurts. I smacked into – something,” Steve says, trying to remember what it was. They were not very gentle when they pulled him into the van. He vaguely remembers someone kicking him, too. “You’re blurry.”

In front of him, Tony’s face darkens. Later, he might find this as of yet unknown part of Tony intriguing. The protectiveness, the readiness for violence.

“They will regret that,” Tony promises, sounding like he has never meant anything more than this. The he cups Steve’s face, making sure that Steve looks at him. “All right, Steve. I need to make sure that our way out is clear, so you’re going to have to hide for a few minutes.”

The panic that has died down a bit since Tony has pulled off this miracle rescue explodes again within Steve. Tony cannot leave. The danger is not over, and Steve already knows he is not going to be of any help. Not just because he does not know how to fight against people with guns, but also because he is not sure whether he will be able to stay on his feet long enough to even get to the door.

“You can’t go out there,” Steve says quickly. He reaches out for Tony, holds onto his shirt like it is a lifeline. “They are dangerous. They have guns.”

Tony nods but his determination never wavers. “So do I,” he says and picks up the gun he took from the leader. “And so do you.”

“What?”

Steve cannot make sense of anything anymore. Before he can ask more, Tony pulls him gently to his feet, steadying him when his legs threaten to give out. Steve is in pain, but this weakness is simply due to what happened. He is in shock, surely.

Tony guides him slowly to a corner of the room, then drags the table over for him to take cover behind. He pushes Steve to the ground with the gentlest expression Steve ever saw on his face. Crouching down too, he puts the gun into Steve’s hands.

“Have you ever used one of these before?” Tony asks, still too calm.

Steve stares at his hands, at the gun, then glances at the unmoving men in the middle of the room. “No. I don’t –” He trails off, too shaken to find any words.

“It’s easy,” Tony says as if they are bantering over a recipe in the kitchen. “I’m going to take the safety off. All you have to do is point and pull the trigger. If you can’t point well enough, just shoot in the general direction of whoever is charging in here. It will buy me time to get back here.”

Point, shoot, wait for Tony. It sounds simple enough, but Steve still stares helplessly at Tony.

“I can’t just shoot at someone,” he says quietly. It is barely more than a whisper. His hands with the gun are in his lap, but he already feels them trembling.

“You can and you will,” Tony answers firmly. His voice brooks no argument. It is the tone he uses with difficult business partners when he strongarms them into doing as he says. “It doesn’t matter who comes in there. You see something moving, you shoot. I will call out before I come back, so you know not to shoot me.” He cocks his head to the side, something dark passing over his face that Steve has never seen before. “Everybody else? Fair game.”

With that, Tony gets to his feet, his hand trailing up Steve’s arm for as long as possible as if he knows that Steve needs the contact.

“Don’t leave me,” Steve pleads. He is sure he will not be able to cope if Tony goes out this door, throwing himself into even more danger.

What if he does not come back? The very thought has Steve’s mind stuttering to a sudden halt.

“I don’t want to, honey,” Tony says, putting so much warmth into the pet name that Steve’s heart aches even more. “Believe me. I need to get you out of here, though, and that’ll go faster if I clear the way out first. Just stay here and don’t move.”

That might just be the hardest thing Steve has ever done. Despite him being sure he would not be able to move very far if he tried.

“I – I love you Tony,” Steve says, hoping with everything he has that this will not be the last chance he gets to say these words.

Tony smiles down at him, gentle and sharp at the same time. “I love you too.”

* * *

The next minutes are the longest of Steve’s life. He cowers behind the table, holding the hand with the gun as far away from himself as possible. It is heavier than he would have thought, and louder than expected when Tony fired it. He has never seen a gun up close before today, but now he shares a room with three men with bullet holes.

Steve does not know whether they are still alive. They are lying too still be just unconscious.

More gunshots can be heard and yelling, causing Steve’s vision to swim red. He does not know how everything went wrong so very quickly. This morning, he woke up in Tony’s bed and promised him pancakes for breakfast once he came back from his run.

It should not have been long. He is just now growing out of his asthma, so he cannot run for very long, and only with his inhaler clutched in his hand. But then – there had been other people in the park, right up until there had been not. Steve had not thought the van parking close by was suspicious until the men jumped out and took him down within seconds.

His head is still ringing and he feels like he is going to be bruised all over. All he wants to do is close his eyes and wake up in Tony’s bed, filing this away as nothing more than a bad dream.

Instead, he pulls his legs close to his chest, making himself as small as possible, and points the gun vaguely in the direction of the door. He waits. To be found and shot after all. To be rescued. To sink into Tony’s arms and forget everything that happened.

“Steve?” Tony’s voice rings out.

Steve’s body jerks away from the sudden noise, even while he feels like slumping in relief. It feels both as if mere seconds have passed and an entire, dreadful eternity.

“I’m coming in now, Steve,” Tony calls again, not waiting for an answer. “Don’t shoot me.”

While Steve has no intention of shooting Tony, he cannot quite lower the hand with the gun. It is pointed at the door, and when Tony comes in, it is pointed at him. He trembles too much to make an accurate shot, but he just cannot let go.

Then Tony is next to him, still moving too quickly for Steve to follow. “I’m here, honey. Everything is all right. An ambulance is on its way. We can go home soon.” He murmurs, repeating the words over and over, and Steve feels his heartbeat calming in response.

Tony’s hand lands on his, slowly lowering it before prying his cramped fingers loose from around the gun.

“Everything is all right,” Tony says, continuing his soothing murmur.

Steve still feels raw and feverish, but Tony’s mere presence is allowing him to calm down. Then his eyes shoot up, searching every inch of Tony he can see.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, new fear flooding his system.

The gunshots Steve heard have been terrifying from down here, but Tony has been right amongst them.

“I’m fine, Steve,” Tony says, but it sounds like the kind of automatic response that is supposed to keep Steve calm. “Do you think you can walk or do we want to wait here for the ambulance?”

Steve does not want an ambulance. He wants to go home. He wants to never let go of Tony again.

“Why do you know how to shoot a gun?” Steve does not know why he asks that. It is not important, but at the same time, he _needs_ to know.

He has seen Tony create in his workshop, has seen his hands build. Somehow, that stands in stark contrast to the easy way they handled these weapons just now. His movements were practised, natural, no hesitation noticeable.

Tony shifts so that he fills most of Steve’s vision. “We used to make weapons, remember?” he says, sounding not at all upset about Steve’s question. “I needed to know how to use them if I wanted to make them better.”

It is wrong. His Tony, his gentle, kind-hearted Tony wielding tools of destruction. Steve knows, of course, that Stark Industries had been a weapons manufacturer, but that was before Tony turned it into something better, something that cares about life instead of taking it.

“I want to go home,” Steve says and almost closes his eyes, thinking the room might vanish if he does. He cannot look away from Tony, though, the only bright spot in this cursed place.

“I know, Steve,” Tony says, still holding onto Steve’s hand. “It won’t be much longer, I promise.”

Steve imagines how much worse everything would have been if Tony had ignored the kidnappers’ demands. “Thank you for coming.”

Something shifts on Tony’s face, making him appear at once gentle and rather vengeful. “Nothing could have kept me away, darling,” Tony says, leaving no doubt that he means is. “You hear that? Nothing.”

Relief spreads through Steve, even while he thinks that he is hardly worth the danger Tony put himself in.

“You should have stayed safe,” he argues, hoping with all he has that they are safe right now. That no one else is going to hurt either of them.

“Not without you,” Tony says, his eyes never leaving Steve’s. “I love you, Steve Rogers.”

There is another commotion outside the door. People are coming closer. Steve’s adrenaline level spikes once more and he tries to raise his hand again, pointing at the door even though Tony has taken the gun from him. His fingers are shaking so badly, he can barely keep his hand in the air.

“Shh,” Tony says, pushing Steve’s hand back down. “I’ve got this.”

He picks up the gun, long fingers curling around it as if they have been made for holding weapons, and he peers around the table for who is coming for them. His body is tense, but not in a fearful way. Right now, Tony looks like he has never been afraid of anything.

“In here,” Tony calls, sending new fear through Steve. “We have wounded.”

It is too easy to imagine that more of the kidnappers will come. Strangely, Steve does not think that Tony would allow them to reach him. The way he stares at the door, intensely and determined, it is easily possible that he would take them out one after the other while they file in. The thought is at once soothing and utterly terrifying.

“Emergency service,” a man shouts right outside the door, and Steve remains tense mostly because Tony still is.

Then, however, the man comes around the corner, wearing a brightly coloured vest and a large red bag with a white cross on it. He looks safe.

There is a long moment while none of them moves. The man looks at the three still bodies, while Tony and Steve wait for how he reacts. Only when he raises his head, unbelievably calm, does Steve allow himself to breathe.

“You said something about wounded?”

That is their clue, Steve supposes, because Tony moves smoothly out from their cover. He is still holding the gun, but it is pointed to the ground now.

“Possible concussion, perhaps some cracked ribs,” Tony reports matter-of-factly as he gestures at Steve who has not yet dared to come out from behind the table. Then Tony ducks his head in a way that belies all the strength he has shown up until now. “And, well, a gunshot wound.”

A number of guns were fired this night, but none of them came close to Steve. He would even protest the broken ribs.

“I wasn’t shot,” Steve says and looks up in confusion. Only then does he notice the blood on Tony’s clothes, drenching his shirt on the right side. “Oh my god, Tony. What happened? Why didn’t you say anything? You are –” Steve tries to stand up but is too dizzy, almost blackening out.

Tony is immediately back at Steve’s side, holding him up as if he is the one that needs care right now.

“It’s all right, Steve,” Tony says, having the audacity of sounding nonchalant about this. “I’m pretty sure the bullet went through. It’s barely bleeding anymore. But we need to have a look at your head.” He turns towards the paramedic. “He was kidnapped earlier this morning. He’s confused.”

Again, everything is happening too quickly. The paramedic speaks into his radio while he comes over to Steve’s other side and then they are both leaning over him. “Let’s get you both to a hospital.”

Steve shakes his head. He is fine, he is barely even in pain anymore. Breathing is a little hard, but that is because he cannot look away from the blood on Tony’s clothes.

“You need to help Tony,” he begs the paramedic before turning back to Tony. “You’re bleeding. I’m so sorry. If I hadn’t gone out. You _said_ I should have stayed in bed.”

The words blur into each other as he reaches out and holds onto the hand Tony offers with all the strength he has left.

“Everything is fine, Steve. Calm down. We’re safe.” Tony makes these promises as if this is just a normal afternoon for him. “I’d love to keep you in bed all day, you know that, but we have to go out sometimes. Nothing bad happened.”

_Nothing bad?_ Steve would laugh if he did not feel like he is choking on the immediate protest rising in his throat.

“You were shot,” he points out, even though the words still barely make sense.

Three dead men are lying mere feet away from him, felled by bullets. Just like Tony is possibly having a bullet inside him at this exact moment.

“And someone hit you over the head,” Tony says, even though this is not a competition. “Everything will be better in the morning, believe me.”

Morning seems so very far away right now.

Steve distantly notices that two more paramedics come into the room. They have a stretcher with them that Tony guides him towards. Something is slipped over his arm and something else over his finger. One of the men flashes a light directly into his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, directing it at everyone in the room.

“Don’t be.” Tony appears back in Steve’s side, brushing off one of the paramedics tugging at his shirt. “I’ll always come for you.”

Steve would prefer that nobody ever kidnaps him again so that they can both be safe, but he takes what he can get for now.

“Stay with me?” Steve asks when the stretcher is lifted into the air.

Tony smiles and squeezes his hand. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
